To Kill A Queen
by farawaytrees
Summary: Being a woman in a world built for men is not easy, especially when you follow the profession of a musketeer. When a dangerous plot is uncovered to kill the Queen by the help of a well placed eavesdrop and a Spanish envoy, events turn into a dangerous game of cat and mouse when Athos is placed in the centre of it all and arrested for treason. (Eventual Athos/OC)
1. Prologue

**hello! this is a fairly tiny fandom at the moment, but I've had this story floating around in my documents for a while and decided I might upload it.**

**I have a feeling this might not make much sense to begin with but if you stick with me hopefully it will make sense a few chapters along. **

**enjoy!**

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><p><span><strong><em>Prologue<em>**

Marie cried out viciously, pain stinging her as the knife slashed her youthful features, her pale hand grasped the left side of her face involuntary; it was warm and wet with blood. Seeing the scarlet, her mother froze, bloody knife in hand still partially raised. Her crystal eyes widened in pure horror at her actions, watching her child tremble before her in utter terror, clutching her bleeding face and yielding on her knees didn't provide the satisfaction it should have.

"I am sorry mother…" Marie choked breath rapid and fear evident. "I will not disobey you again."

"You will speak of this to no one," she said hurriedly, dragging the girl to her feet roughly forcing her hand away from her left eye, Marie's mother inspected the damage. The wound was not deep, but it stretched from her temple and across her jade eye, nicking the eyelid and halting at the dark eyebrow that sat atop of it.

"Clean yourself up, if questions are asked, you fell and grazed yourself."

"Yes mother," Marie answered shakily, bowing her head low and not showing her back until she reached the door.

Marie's mother placed the knife down on the table, wiping it until the blade shone in the shafts of soft light; she then proceeded to burn the bloody material to be rid of all evidence of her torturous deed. Never had she wished to do such a thing to her own flesh and blood, yet she knew that the only way her daughter would come to be the respectable, well mannered women she wanted was through such violence. Her obstinate soul had been a nuisance since birth.

"Perhaps now you will realise that there is only one path for you."

No doubt Marie had become accustomed to the abuse she received on allowing her wilfulness slip through, however her mother had never gone as far as to brandish a blade upon her, while walking through the halls, deep red flecked on her white dress, she began to realise how weak she truly was and it make her sick right to her heart. How she wished she could be like her brother, strong, brave and a devilishness that women lusted after in such mass. Yet she was born a feeble woman, doomed to be beaten into submission and become the woman she do desperately wanted to escape from being. What was worse was she knew that if she even thought of her 'tutoring' in the presents of her father, somehow her mother would know and she would pay for it. Was this frailness inside her or a weakness that had been overexposed to the point of fear? Marie didn't know, but there was a certainty that burned within her heart, a foolish stubbornness that urged her wit and wayward soul to shine in those few moments before, there she could see a strong Marie, a Marie that would not let anyone touch her, a woman of power and unbending potency...

"A free woman…"

Marie let out a long breath, splashing away her grievance with cold water. Blood continued to ease its way through the cut, it stung horribly but she was ashamed to admit it was a pain she had become familiarized with and so didn't bother her as much as the mess.

Locating a few clean bandages she tended to her wound, once covered she hoped that her lessons were finished for the day and that she could retire. However on her way to her room she encountered both her father and brother who were deep in an animated discussion no doubt on the topic of duelling. The ability to wield a sword would perhaps put an end to her misery, but she could ever even hold a sword let alone use it.

"Ah!" her father mused brightly. "Marie my dear!"

Marie's father was a gentle man but a fierce fighter and his years of active service for the French crown showed in his aging face, battle scars and creases were thick over the kindly features. He had never shown anything but tenderness and love toward Marie, completely oblivious to her _lessons_.

"What on earth has happened to you face?" her brother suddenly exclaimed on seeing the reddening bandages.

"It's nothing," Marie said sweetly, using the tone she reserved only for these lies, they tasted bitter on her tongue. "I tripped and fell down the stairs earlier on today…"

"Honestly, sister," her brother said looping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "It's a wonder you're still breathing."

Despite the circumstances Marie laughed. She always laughed. If only to stop a confession.

"I take it your lessons are over for the day, my dear daughter?" her father asked softly.

Marie nodded. A glowing voice inside of her head urging her to say something more. _A knife, she took a knife to you, whatever will be next?_

Marie felt suddenly shaken, it seemed the torment of all the beatings and lashings had come to bit her all at once, she shivered in her brother's arms and he noted the change with a furrowed brow.

"Marie?" he called softly, the woman had looked down to the floor eyes wide and voice hoarse. "Marie are you alright?"

"I-I…" she pushed the voice away. "I'm fine."

She unfolded herself from her brother's arms and hurried down the hall toward her ornately decorated room. A spark had ignited in her stomach, almost as if the throbbing gash on her face had triggered a dangerous fury that was buried deep down. It had awoken with a fierce intention.

"I am not weak."

Her small voice echoed around the large room.

"Marie?" her brother's soft voice startled her and she whipped around to face him looking dangerously through her brow.

Her brother was troubled, he had seen that change in her, but he knew deep down her true desires and it wasn't what their mother wanted.

"I am not weak," Marie repeated a little more strongly.

"No, you aren't," her brother said coming to stand in front of her.

"I don't want to be here," white-hot tears streaked her face. "I want a different life. I want to fight. I want to escape."

"Then run."

Marie visible flinched at her bothers gentle words. She was not expecting him to be so blunt, in fact she expected him to argue.

"Go to Paris," he said. "I have friends in Pairs, find them and they will teach you how to fight. They'll let you be the person you want to be."

Marie looked up at him with bleary eyes, full of a wild mixture of emotion; gratitude, anger, sadness. She didn't want to leave her father behind, but she knew she couldn't stay. Staying would be more unbearable than leaving.

"I'll write to you as often as I can," her bother embraced her tightly, he wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but somewhere in his heat he understood that she didn't want this life and he also knew that her strong and wilful soul would protect her.

"Who are they, your friends?" Marie asked.

"You can trust them," her brother answered, realising her. "They are Kings Musketeers, and they go by the names of Athos, Porthos and Aramis."

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading! this was just a little introduction but things will get underway soon. Please tell me what you think in the reviews, they're very helpful to me! <strong>


	2. A Plot Uncovered

**hello! thank you for your favourites & reviews! here's your next chapter! hopefully things will begin to become clearer … **

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><p><span><em><strong>A Plot Uncovered<strong>_

Aramis awoke to the sound of fighting, yet the grunts and groans were mingled with melancholy, choked tears of anger rife with frustration. He knew those sounds well and sat up; dragging a hand through his tangled curls, soft morning light came in sharp shafts through the closed window and fell on his handsome face. Turning to the wooden shutters, clumsy with dreariness and lack of sleep, he fumbled them open and peered down into the courtyard below.

Striking out viciously, bare knuckled and having no thought to the raw and bloody state of her fists, Marie pounded at the cold stone wall beside the straw stuffed sacks which they usually used as practice when new rapiers were made. Marie's sword lay on the muddy ground, along with the tough leather baldric it was kept in, a once neatly folded parchment lay next to it, crumpled in fury and grief and thrown to the floor in anger.

Her soft cheeks were streaked with tears, fresh salty residue falling on each brutal clout, the pain that lanced through her tender fists was no match for the ache in her chest, the new pain was controllable and she could stop it at her own will.

Aramis felt his sleepy state cringe as a notable crack rang clear through the yard, Marie's low screech followed on shortly as she reeled around on the spot biting her red knuckles, this seemed to only make her irate state more perturbed and she lashed out with the broken fist wielding it into the stone which had vastly become crimson with blood.

She held down the sickening shriek, drawing air down her throat in a long gasp to stifle it. Aramis had seen enough and moved away from the shutters, the warmth of the summer air was pleasant and so he left them open. Tugging on his long leather boots, he rubbed sleep away from his eyes and dashed cool water on his face from a bucket he had left by his bedside the night previous. Rising, he left and ventured down to the courtyard, the sounds of Marie's self torture becoming more violent and louder.

"_Stop this!"_ Athos' deep roar of a voice echoed through the yard, already dressed in his leathers, rapier and pistol at his side, he strode over to Marie tearing her away from the wall by her wrist. "What in the name of God are you doing?"

"Get off me," Marie growled, attempting to rip her wrist free of Athos' iron like grip, there was no light warning in her quiet inflection; pure venom sat there as her lip curled.

"No," Athos said simply, clenching his leather gloved hand tighter causing Marie's pale wrist to redden.

Marie gave no second caution, leaning back and giving her full weight to her back leg; she swung her broken fist downward and planted the bloody knuckles into Athos' jaw line. Stumbling with the force and sudden shock of it, Athos released his grip and regained his balance, a low rumble of irritation rippling up his throat. Marie's blood blanched his cheek. Making to strike back, Marie stood fast with hands raised ready to receive.

"Stop it!" Aramis had called, sliding his way between the two of them. "Both of you stop."

He held the paper between his fingers, having read the hastily written note, he understood Marie's pain. Athos, his jaw now purpling with a large bruise, took the crumpled parchment and read it.

Marie had turned away from them both, the binding across her chest showing from behind the linen shirt she wore where the ties had loosened; it was stained in places with her blood. She sucked her knuckles bringing her breaths and strangled tears under control. How she hated the weakness she felt and showed, _in front of both of them as well_… she thought bitterly, nursing her broken fist.

"Marie," Athos began quietly, feeling somewhat ashamed of his attempted actions.

"Don't," Marie replied, her voice forcibly impassive. "I don't need any of your empty sympathies."

"Did this," Athos said, walking around so he could see Marie's face, she turned it away from him cheeks reddening. He held up the note in between his first and middle gloved finger. "Really warrant you shattering your knuckles in such a way?"

"Your sword hand I might add." Aramis threw in; he too came to stand in front of the fiery woman raising a dark eyebrow.

"I can control this pain," Marie said to the floor.

"Can you really?" Athos said, grabbing her broken fist and squeezed it hard. Marie winced and her teeth ground over each other as sharp agony stabbed at the broken bones. Aramis shifted uncomfortably, he didn't understand what point Athos was trying to make.

"No pain is controllable, no pain is easily fixed, and if you think hitting the wall will take away your grief then by all means carry on. But believe me it won't, this kind of pain will stay with you for the rest of your life so either accept that or continue punching at the wall like a child and cause yourself unnecessary anguish. Grief is pain enough, don't add to it."

With that the musketeer placed the note in her hand and turned on his heel, vanishing into Captain Tréville's office no doubt to see if there were any errands for the day. Marie's dark emerald eyes followed him until he disappeared through the door at the top of the wooden steps and across the walkway; she cradled her broken knuckles tenderly.

"A valuable lesson I think." Aramis said.

Marie turned to him, he was still in the linen shirt he usually wore at night, the lower half of him dressed in his dark brown musketeer trousers and boots. She raised an eyebrow to him. "Unusual for you to be up so early," she picked up her rapier and baldric, stuffing the note in her trouser pocket, she made to move and tend to her broken bones, however Aramis side stepped in front of her.

"Yes, well I heard you were in grave peril and thought my assistance was needed," Aramis said with a light charming chuckle, one he preserved only for Marie.

"How comforting, I suggest you venture back to your bed, you seem very –"

"Was that an invitation?" Aramis interrupted, grinning in that amiable, most infuriating way that caused Marie's hands to curl up into fists at her sides, the pain it brought was equally as insufferable as the man himself. His harmless flirtations were usually rebuked calmly and thought nothing of, however on this particular early morning, as the sun began edging its way higher into the sky, Marie felt anger rise once again in her chest. A horribly uncomfortable feeling, one that she didn't want to have, for all her resolve was needed to batten it down.

Still the young musketeer could see he had spoken in the wrong from the heaviness of her eyes, the bitter sorrow that lay thick in them, his thoughts cast back to the letter and what was written on it.

"I'm sorry," he apologised swiftly, lowering his head in shame. "That was wrong of me, given the circumstances."

"Such is your nature," Marie replied, surprisingly with a small smile and a light chuckle, both of which were not forced as first she perceived they might be.

"Why don't you let me take a look at that for you?" Aramis offered with a kind smile, his gentlemanliness was unyielding, and despite his flirtatious tendencies he was a good man with a gentle heart and fierce intellect that was far beyond his twenty-two years.

A stubborn creature was Marie, and the one thing she could never stand to show was her weakness, she was a woman, or man in this case of concealment, of great mental strength, she prided herself in this fact, she was both resourceful and brave and her young years showed no juvenile brashness. She found great self-respect in her high regards of dignity, if it were left to her mother, she would surely be dead, the mere thought of it made her feel sick. Marie was no ones object, no ones pet, her fierce, wilful soul would not allow for such things, and here Aramis found her violent tendencies and sudden outbursts of ferocious anger most alluring. Although he knew, as much any man who had crossed paths with her, that if he so much laid a finger where it was not supposed to be, he would loose it, or in fact his whole hand, this was a fine deterrent as most men needed their hands for a variety of different things. Aramis was fond of both of his hands and knew better than to step the line, which evidently he had done, however Marie's stunning powers of emotional discipline had prevented him loosing a limb, or worse, his beautiful dark eyes.

With reluctance, Marie agreed, she knew that this would mend the man's mistake and, in turn, make him feel better. He wore that charming smile, somehow different to the one he reserved for pretty girls, it irritated Marie and he knew that. Much like a brother he enjoyed teasing her.

Leading the way under an archway out of the courtyard, Aramis went through into the common hall, empty of all, for everyone else was surely still in bed. Marie perched her nimble frame upon one of the long wooden tables, resting her worn leather boots against the bench. It was then she noticed the strings of her linen shirt had slipped, revealing her bound chest; hastily she drew them taught just in case anyone was to rise earlier than usual. Aramis vanished while she tied the strings in knot and reappeared a few moments later with what looked like a bowl of steaming water and a few clean bandages.

He sat below her on the bench as to be at eye level with her broken knuckles, quite a useful unspoken plan between them, he placed the bowl beside her on the table and briefly glanced up to her for the permission to go ahead. Marie nodded curtly, her mind elsewhere.

"I've put salt in the water to stop infection so it may sting a little." Aramis said softly, wetting a clean scrap of fabric in the warm salty water and taking her broken fist in his hand.

Marie didn't flinch at the sudden pain brought with the movement; her eyes were cast over the stone wall at the far end of the empty hall, lost in many sorrows and worries. This didn't distract from how tender and soft Aramis' hands were on her own, he dabbed lightly at the torn bloody flesh, the salt creating vicious throbbing over the entirety of her hand. Still she didn't wince.

A silence settled over them both, Aramis worked as gently as he could, cleaning away the dried blood that had covered most of Marie's slender fingers. Once the fabric was the shade of red, Aramis took up a bandage and bound Marie's knuckles with the same amount of care.

"How is your other hand?" Aramis asked quietly.

Marie inspected her left hand, although she had pummelled the wall once, or perhaps twice, with it the knuckles remained intact save for a few scratches across the pale skin.

"Fine," she answered nonchalantly. "Thank you."

Aramis looked up from his work, it seemed apparent that Marie had not noticed the tears that edged their way down her pale cheeks, nor did he venture to alert her to the fact. He knew her well enough to realise that she found courage in her strength and failure in her weakness, yet he could not stifle the idea that the cause of her bloody knuckles was not weakness. Perhaps it was the emotions, the deep sorrow which was impossible to shake away. She was not used to feelings making a more permanent home in her heart; her restraint was unequal and brushed such feelings aside in an instant. However as Athos had alleged the kind of pain she was feeling will stay with her for the remainder of her days, it would lessen, but not wholly vanish.

Aramis felt the sudden need to speak to her about it, yet his experiences with Athos' similar situation, made him shiver the idea away. It came as a vast surprise to him then when Marie began to broach the subject of her own accord; however Aramis felt she was talking more to herself than him directly.

"I'm sorry," she began, voice barely above a whisper; it almost seemed lost in the vast emptiness of the hall. "I'm not well versed in the feelings of grief, I try to distance myself from such things, but I cannot seem to shake away this horrible emptiness inside of me. I felt angry to begin with, but after a while I was so desperately tormented by these new emotions that hitting the wall seemed like a good way to distract myself. Yet as Athos so kindly pointed out, it only caused me more pain… Now I simply feel drained of everything, cold and not really in the world at all."

She paused for breath. "I'm a fool."

"Now you listen to me," Aramis said moving the bowl of bloody water aside and coming to sit upon the table beside her, his hands still softly held in her own. "It's difficult, this kind of pain, believe me I know. However, there are ways to soften it, yes it will stay with you for life, but time heals a lot of things. All you really have to do is remember the times of happiness, and what you still have now."

Marie felt a small curve turn up her lips, realising now how many of her grievances had fallen and reached the dust below, she was thankful that it was Aramis alone who had seen them and none other. Inspecting her newly bandaged hand she marvelled in the knowledgeable skill it was done with, her fingers rested on Aramis' palm, the stinging that lanced through the broken bones lessened greatly.

"He was a good man," Marie said blinking away her tears and taking a deep breath to calm the stormy seas in her chest. Finally she looked up to the dark eyes that were filled with such tender care and heart-warming kindness.

"A very good man," Aramis smiled, looping his spare arm around her shoulders. Marie allowed her head to fall and rest on his arm. "You've always been like a sister to me, Marie, if there's anything I can do to help -"

"Thank you, but I think the damage has already been done…"

Aramis wasn't quite sure what she meant but he had no time to dwell on it.

"_Porthos! Aramis! Théris!" _

Captain Tréville's deep booming call staunched the silence of the early morning. Marie sat up almost instantly by now she had become accustomed to the call of her male name, sliding deftly from the table she shook her short ebony curls.

Aramis let lose a low sigh.

"I hope you didn't get too comfortable," Marie said with a white teethed grin.

"Not at all," Aramis replied, getting to his feet and stepping down from the bench with nimble precision. He gave her a short wink as he walked passed back out into the sun filled courtyard; Marie rolled her eyes and followed, picking up her rapier as she went passed it.

Realising then she should probably change, she slipped away and dashed to her room with long lithe strides she took the steps to her door two at a time. Filled with shafts of morning light from the open window, her small room was neatly ordered, her leathers were placed out on the bed where she had left them after receiving the note. Quickly donning her leather jerkin, she looped her head through the newly buckled baldric that her rapier rested proudly in. She looked toward the hat that was hooked on the end of her bed and finding the thing irksome to wear decided to leave it where it sat.

Feeling much more comfortable, she left her room the warmth of the day ahead already filling up the small space. Hurrying across the yard in a few well placed, lithe steps, she took the wooden stairs to captain Tréville's office and bounded through the door.

She looked around, Athos and Porthos were already stood in front of their captain waiting to be addressed, Marie felt another grin light up her lips, remaining silent she fell inline beside Porthos who gave a short nod to her in greeting. She stole a glance to Athos, stern and stony faced, which was quite normal, she could not help but feel a twang of guilt pluck her heart at the sight of the vast purple bruise now decorating his short bearded jaw. He was showing her a kindness and she forced back in a vicious strike, she hated her stubbornness sometimes…

They stood in silence for a prolonged period of time, in which Tréville became restless and somewhat frustrated with the missing musketeer. He began pacing behind his desk, Tréville was renowned throughout Paris, brave and loyal to the king, but his temper was known to the three men (and woman) more closely than any other. Scroll upon scroll littered his small desk, a few quills rested on top of a writing block and a small jar of ink sat next to it.

"Where the devil is Aramis?" Tréville inquired with the execution of a low growl to accompany it.

"Sorting out his hair probably," Marie said with complete seriousness, her sarcasm was also renowned throughout the musketeer's garrison and no doubt Paris as well.

Porthos failed to stifle rough, deep laughter. He had a sisterly affection toward Marie, her whole being making his days just that little brighter. However, Athos, whom would have graced her wit with a short laugh, remained silent and continued to stare ahead, unmoving and expressionless.

Appearing through the door and coming to stand beside Marie, Aramis, now dressed in his leathers and hat atop his dark curls, looked handsomer than ever. Once his ebony eyes drifted over Marie a deep frown line etched its way into his forehead; Athos caught his bewildered stare and smiled slightly. It was obvious his early start had slowed him down a little, and his look of bafflement only increased.

"How did you…?" he began but then shook his head. "Actually don't tell me, I don't think I'll understand all the same."

"Nice of you to join us Aramis," Tréville said his irritation rising, he glared at the young musketeer his wise and knowledgeable eyes flaming.

"Sorry, sir," Aramis bowed his head low.

"Never mind you're here now," Tréville halted in his pacing and placed his hands down on his desk, surveying his four best musketeers with bridled fondness. "Ma– Théris," he corrected himself with gritted teeth; it seemed he only made this mistake once his infuriation got the best of him, not that he really needed to use the name, all present were the only ones to know Marie's true gender. "Athos tells me of a letter you received, might I see it?"

Marie gave a cold glance to Athos; she had no intentions of broaching this subject with her captain, in fact if she had had it her way she would have kept the whole situation secret. _Damn my stubbornness…_ she chided herself her mouth twisting. Athos, expressionless, didn't seem to regret his decision.

Hesitantly she took the crumpled note from her pocket and handed it over with bandaged knuckles, Tréville took it with care, avoiding contact with the broken bones; he looked at them disappointedly with a small shake of his head.

Tréville read the letter; his eyes skimming the hastily scrawled words, a deep frown furrowed his greying eyebrows as he neared the end.

"I'm sorry, Marie, I truly am." Tréville said sombrely placing the note down in front of him. A collective look of sympathy was passed around the three men, this however, only set aflame Marie's famed fury.

"All of you stop looking at me like that!" she seethed through clenched teeth. "I'm absolutely fine, he died in service for his country, which was everything he wanted."

"He was your father Marie; you are allowed to be upset." Athos said, he worried for her at times, despite her actions; it would taste a lie to say it was not without reason.

"And what good will my sorrow do?" she rounded on him for the second time, the anger besting her rationality. "It will not bring him back will it?"

"Stop it," Tréville ordered, horribly calm as Athos opened his mouth to retaliate harshly. "We have more important things to be dealing with at this moment."

Marie fell silent, moving back in line. Athos didn't meet her eye for the remainder of their time spent in captain Tréville's office. By her side, Porthos provided a look, which provoked nothing but brotherly affection; his silence on the subject was refreshing indeed.

"I apologise for calling you here so early (Aramis had failed to stifle a long yawn) but it was necessary, with the help of a well placed musketeer, news has reached me of terrible plot," Tréville rested his hands on the wood in front of him, his voice lowered. "A Spanish envoy was seen speaking with an unknown man of a plan to kill the Queen, from what our men heard they have spies all over the city."

There was a horribly silent pause as the words sank in.

"Our first priority is the protection of the Queen, but we also need to find these men and dispose of them." Tréville looked troubled once again, his eyes glazed over the four of them, his wise eyes and furrowed brow unsettling.

"Is there anything more you can tell us?" Aramis said, suddenly very aware and wide-awake.

"I wish there was, but it seems that once again the assailants of the Spanish envoy are out to pin blame, you must be careful, if there are people out there trying to blacken your names again then you might not fall in favour with those you did before."

"Understood, but why would people want to blacken our names again?" Marie piped up frightfully wary of Athos' cold shoulder, and frustrated at her own actions which led to it.

"It seems we have become an easily manipulated target, all it takes is someone to plant the seed of doubt and people get suspicious. Whoever they are they are no friend to you, and if we want to stop an all out war with Spain I suggest you get straight to it." Tréville sighed, he knew that an audience with the king was inevitable, he dearly hoped that this dire situation had stayed among his men and not reach his ears as of yet.

"Dismissed."

Aramis left first, closely followed by his two male friends, Marie made after them but was halted by a few solemn words from her captain. A very thick layer of graveness was lying over them all.

"Marie, a word please."

Marie froze, a helpless gaze held on Porthos who shrugged and mouthed a _good luck_ before ducking out of the room, his height would not allow for anything less. Turning on her heel, somewhat uncomfortable under Tréville's sympathetic stare, she stood back in front of him, expression vacant.

"I can allow you temporary leave if you need it, I know this must be hard for you –"

"Captain if I may, my father died, there's nothing I can do about it now and I haven't seen him in over six years. Working will take my mind away from it." Marie cut him off gently, abruptly surprised at how calm she sounded, it seemed that speaking softly would make for a better way of going about such tender topics. "If we are, like say, to stop a war then you will need all the help you can get."

"I know you understand the seriousness of what is happening," Tréville said quietly. "But grief effects us in different ways," he indicated Marie's broken knuckles. "I need every man on point and sharp, if you're in anyway distracted by this -"

"Sir, I take full responsibility for my actions, but I can do this."

There was a pause and Tréville noted the deep determination on Marie's face, he was confident in her just as he was the rest of his men, however he did worry. With a little reluctance he nodded his head.

"Start by asking questions, anything is valuable, but be careful who you trust."

"Yes, sir."

Marie left Tréville's office somewhat uneasy. The seriousness of the situation hit her quite abruptly. There wasn't much to go on, in fact it seemed like there was nothing to go on except the appearance of a Spanish envoy and an unknown man.

"What did Tréville want?"

Athos's calm and quiet voice took her away from her thoughts, reluctantly she looked up at him, he still wore that self same stony expression but it had lessened somewhat.

"He wanted to know whether I wanted any temporary leave," Marie explained. "But given the current affairs of the world I declined."

Marie was feeling miserably guilty at the bruise on his handsome face. "Where's d'Artagnan?" she skilfully steered the exchange away from herself.

Not wanting to raise her fury again, Athos dropped the topic of conversation and ran a hand through his hair. "I haven't seen him yet this morning, no doubt he'll turn up soon enough."

"I don't understand why the Spanish would plot to kill the Queen, she is of Spanish blood herself." Marie though out loud, starting on a loose end was more than frustrating.

"Perhaps they feel betrayed," Athos replied, pausing before he continued. "We have no time to think about that now, we have an unknown man to find."


	3. The Unknown Man

**hello! thank you so much for your reviews and follows! It's very encouraging to me, here's your next chapter, it's quite a lot shorter than the last so sorry about that **

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><p><span><em><strong>The Unknown Man<strong>_

As the morning edged slowly on, the musketeers regrouped at the table below Tréville's office in the yard. Aramis nibbled away nonchalantly on a piece of bread while Porthos flipped a coin in his large hand. Marie was sat atop the table flexing her knuckles and measuring the amount of pain it caused, annoyingly, and as Aramis had so helpfully pointed out, the fractured bones were that of her sword hand and although she was keen with a stiletto blade in her left, the small knife didn't carry the weight of a rapier.

Unbeknown to her, Athos watched from a distance, he was uneasy with her being involved with this operation, particularly one of such importance due to the grave circumstances which had befallen her. He could see her eyes twitch and body tense with the pain of her wounds. If he had his way she would be resting her hands and her heart, but from experience he knew not to force Marie into a corner she wouldn't otherwise willingly seek out.

Athos ventured over to his friends and rested his hands on the worn table. "If he's not here in the next five minutes we leave without him."

"Agreed," Marie answered with a small nod, the other two also silently approved with a bow of the head.

As if on cue, the young, dark haired Gascon made his way under the entrance arch with a wide grin on his face. Marie saw Athos' features harden as he looked up to see d'Artagnan quite content to simply wander in and sit down beside the others as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"And where have you been?" Athos glowered at him.

"In the arms of Madame Bonacieux no doubt," Aramis interjected with a kittenish grin. Porthos chortled deeply beside him.

D'Artagnan was lost for words, he was not about to admit to where he had been, even if they had guessed right, he saw from the look on their faces that he should have been here hours ago. The young Gascon chewed on his lip nervously.

"Good God look at that!" Marie cried. "We've silenced him; well this must be a miracle."

There was a collective chuckle, shared by all but Athos and d'Artagnan.

"You were supposed to be here this morning," Athos said on a serious note. "And you weren't."

"Look I'm sorry alright, I -" d'Artagnan began to make his excuses with an apologetic expression, but Athos merely raised a hand to silence him. There were no words now which would cool his annoyance at the young man.

"It doesn't matter now," he said firmly with a harsh bitterness. "The Queen's life is in serious danger; we have a man that needs interrogating."

"Who is this man?" d'Artagnan inquired.

There was a pause and many a culpable glance was thrown around.

"We don't know," Athos finally confirmed.

D'Artagnan sighed deeply. "How incredibly helpful, so what exactly are we to do?"

"I suggest we split up and ask questions, someone must have seen something," Marie leapt down off the table, far too elegantly for someone posing as a man.

She stole forward a few paces, until she stood beside Athos, coming just below his eye line. Her guise was believable, however, the way she moved was far too graceful and nimble, something no man would ever be able to achieve. Nonetheless others didn't seem to notice, as she spent the majority of her time with the three musketeers, and d'Artagnan had not yet come to realise the truth. Something all four of them still held closely to their chests, they trusted d'Artagnan, not long becoming a musketeer himself, but there were still moments of doubt and Marie did not wholly trust him as of yet.

"Well I suppose there's not much else we can do," Porthos said getting to his feet slowly, he brushed down his leathers and repositioned the rapier hilt by his side. "Are any of us going to be on guard duty?"

"Considering the King and Queen are still naive to the threat to them, no, not yet," Athos said. "I believe Tréville is on his way to an audience with him soon."

"Right then, we're not getting much done sat here," Aramis spoke around the bread in his mouth, he swallowed before continuing. "Porthos and I will take the south of the city; see if anyone has heard anything."

"Our men saw the exchange between the Spanish envoy and the unknown man close to Monsieur Bonacieux's residence, Théris and I will start there and work our way back to the garrison," Athos paused and turned to d'Artagnan, his air still one of faint irritation. "D'Artagnan, go with Tréville to the palace, see that the King and Queen are well protected. If anything should go wrong reconvene here."

D'Artagnan merely nodded and rose to his feet, still rather sheepish, he made his way up to the Captain's office. Once he had vanished into the room, the four remaining friends bid their good lucks and went their separate ways.

Athos and Marie made their way to the Bonacieux residence on high alerted silence, their ears attuned to each small detail of the busy streets around them, there was an almost feline-like quality to their keen senses, a skill which came from years of practice and dedication.

"Are you ever going to tell him?" Athos spoke up suddenly, distracting the woman at his side from her surveillance of the surrounding houses, she watched a woman hang out wet sheets on a line strung high above and constantly searched for vacant windows which could be used for a point of attack almost on instinct. As they spoke Athos did the same, noticing every detail.

"Perhaps," Marie answered as she skimmed passed a man holding a large crate of apples. "But I don't trust him completely yet."

"Why?" Athos had been curious of this for a while and wished the niggling sensation to be answered. "He's proven his worth dozens of times."

Marie knew that, of course she knew that, but there was just something about the young Gascon that didn't sit right in her heart. Be it the fact she hadn't known him for as long as the rest, or that she simply didn't trust quickly nor easily.

"I like to be careful," Marie finally settled on. "Young men can be easily persuaded by the right person."

Athos knew exactly what she meant, it seems there was a trait in young men, such as d'Artagnan, that was lost in later years once the downy recklessness of youth was shaken off and replaced with sense and surety. He didn't blame her for the decision in the slightest, after all it was hers alone to make.

"I suggest we split up again, we'll cover more ground if we go alone," Marie didn't wait for him to answer, or protest as he was about to, the words were left unsaid and all Athos could do was sigh and turn down the opposite street as the woman made her way to a loud and quite rowdy tavern across the way.

Hand kept close to the hilt of her rapier, Marie ducked her way through the door and was met by a cloud of smoke and stifling air, it was thick with drink and strident voices calling across the crowded and small room. However, once the sigil of the musketeer garrison was noticed upon her brown leather pauldron, a silence settled among the rough looking people which chilled the air and sent a slight quiver through Marie's heart. All eyes turned to her, something she was grossly unused to, her methods were shadow based, moving silently and unnoticed among patrons and ordinary folk. She felt suddenly very exposed and highly strung, sensitive to any whisper of abhorrence or challenging movement.

Calmly, she made her way to the bar where the innkeeper was staring at the _fleur-de-lis _with fear in his wide eyes. Marie halted in front of him and saw that he visibly began to shake, his heartbeat elevated, beads of sweat brimming on his brow; he was terrified but Marie couldn't fathom why.

"Get out!" A sharp voice abruptly called from somewhere deep within the smoke and shadows. Marie turned to the owner of the gruff voice, a man, stood alone among his friends who were doing their best to look intimidating, but failing miserably. "We don't want your kind here."

There was a shift in Marie's pretty eyes and she whipped around to face the man stiletto blade held to his throat in mere seconds, the silent watchers all took a breath together as the tension rose significantly. The man stared straight into Marie's darkened, hard gaze.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marie growled through her teeth.

Showing no sign of fear, the man leant into the blade as if brushed against the soft skin of his neck. "We know what you're all planning, it makes me sick!" he spat on the ground at Marie's boots. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but the stuttered and mouse-like voice of the innkeeper staunched her hand from moving and slicing the man's throat for his troubles.

"P-please," he quivered having stepped bravely from behind the bar. "We don't want any trouble, just leave us be and we won't say anything more on the matter."

Unwilling to back down, but knowing it to be the rational thing to do, Marie glowered at the man she held against her knife and slowly brought the blade down to her side. Without a moment's hesitation she turned on her heel and left, more than bewildered at the harsh welcoming she had received. Her thoughts strayed to her companions as she headed back through the streets to find Athos; she wondered whether they had got such treatment themselves.

A new voice stopped her again, this time she didn't reach for a weapon, it would be silly of any man to attempt anything in such a crowded part of the close street.

"Excuse me!" the voice called above the bustle of the day. Marie caught the figure of a young boy, he couldn't have been much younger than d'Artagnan, running toward her. He stopped in front of her, breathing heavily, and bent over his knees for a moment to catch his stuttered breaths.

Once recovered from his sudden sprint, the blonde haired boy looked up to the waiting musketeer. "Are you the musketeer they call Athos?" he inquired with urgency in his small voice.

"Who wants to know?" Marie replied defensively.

"Back then," the boy continued. "I'm sorry, but my father tends to believe any rumour or word of a drunk man that comes our way."

"It's quite alright," Marie reassured. "What have we done to deserve such a greeting?"

"There was a man, he came in late last night already drunk," the boy took on a thoughtful tone trying to recall the evening's events. "He was spouting some knowledge about being hired by musketeers to help with an attempt on the Queen's life, he said that a man named Athos was the one who hired him, paid him a pretty penny too no doubt."

Marie was stunned into an uncomfortable and unwanted silence. She didn't know how to react to such a wild and frankly outrageous accusation. "Where is this man now?" she demanded with no kindness.

"That's all I know!" the boy hastily defended, seeing the musketeers eyes darken dangerously. "There were some Red Guards in the tavern at the time; drunk men talk very loudly you see."

Her eyes visibly widened and she instantly turned on her heel and vaulted through the streets, nimbly avoiding collisions with the poor who busied themselves, but as she rounded the corner she saw Athos was being violently wrestled from a house by several Red Guards.

Marie made for her sword and bolted forward, a name about to leave her lips, however corded arms caught her body and a hand clamped her mouth shut. "Don't," a gruff voice said quietly dragging her into the shadows of market stalls.

It was already too late.

* * *

><p>Marie gripped the fingers of the hand which held her still and threw it down, she glared at the dark eyes of Porthos with vehemence, she was sure she could have stopped them.<p>

"Whoa there," Porthos raised his hands in surrender. "I had to; you would have been killed otherwise."

"I take it you didn't receive a warm welcome from anyone either?" Aramis, who had been stood behind the burly musketeer, said with his pleasant tone.

"No," Marie answered simply. "It seems Tréville was right after all, someone is blackening our names again."

"What should we do?" Porthos asked in a hoarse voice.

"Head back to the garrison," Marie suggested. "No doubt Tréville has come back and I'm sure he'll have a few things to say."

They wasted no time in getting back to the garrison; they ran in silence, all thoughts the same, what would become of Athos? And of course how would they find a way of clearing his name quickly and discreetly, they could only trust one another now as the favour of friends may have been lost through this clever scheme.

With their haste they made it back swiftly and went straight to Tréville's office, as they had supposed their Captain was back though the young Gascon was not to be seen. The musketeers rushed and unannounced entrance startled the aging Captain who was sat at his desk. He looked up to his best soldiers a deep frown forming on his forehead.

"Athos has been arrested," Aramis announced falling into a rough line in front of Tréville.

"Arrested?" Tréville echoed, astonished. "What on earth for?"

"For something he didn't do," Marie clarified. "He's been accused of conspiring to murder the Queen!"

"What!?" Tréville stood instantly, his anger flaming. "What madness is this?"

"We don't know yet, sir," Porthos said hurriedly. "Nothing's making sense."

"I'm going to see him," Marie said, immediately turning for the door. Aramis went to prevent her from leaving but his Captain spoke up.

"No," Tréville stopped him with the sharp word. "Let her go, we have things to discuss."


	4. An Audience With The King

_**An Audience With The King**_

Marie reached the Châtelet just before the sun attained the midpoint of the blue sky, cloudless and bright as the morning had been, the day had become darkened in her views. Her mind teemed with various questions, grievances and regrets, all of which she was hoping to resolve, as she neared the prison the strangled cries and brutal, antagonized screams of its occupancies had already filled the abound street beside it.

Making her way nimbly through the passersby, she turned and headed toward the small iron grated, cage like door, pushing it open with minimal effort Marie was greeted by one of the many jailers, unpleasant, with the revolting stench of an unwashed body, and repulsive manners to accompany it.

"What are you doing down here?" he questioned gruffly, heavy breath stained with drink to which he had a pot belly to match. Rounding on the young musketeer he stopped, taking in her appearance, the recognisable sigil of the garrison upon her leather pauldron narrowed his eyes dubiously.

"I have come to see Athos," she stated calmly, tightly buttoned up in her leathers, rapier at her side; she clutched it with a gloved hand and eyed him up contemplative of her next act if he were to refuse her request.

"Last moments sorta thing is it pretty lad?" the jailer grunted, a crooked smile staining his ugly, round face. It was clear from his open expression he didn't wish to quarrel with the musketeer, yet there was an air of antipathy about his tone, it would seem the captain's words rung true, people were beginning to mistrust them.

"If you wish to call it that, then yes." Marie had no intentions of letting Athos be executed for reasons that were not his fault; perfectly composed she didn't linger for an answer. Moving her way through the low arched, darkened prison, sullied old straw bemired the stone floor, the bars of the various cells covered with thick orange rust.

Head resting against the rusted bars and mild, brooding eyes turned upon the ceiling, Marie spotted Athos's dark curly head, glazed in deep thought he didn't notice her approach until she was cast in the firelight of candles that littered the foul walls of the polluted place.

Crouching and then coming to sit in a position that, if it were not for the iron bars, would surely have their heads resting together, Marie turned her green gaze on his troubled features.

"What are you doing here?" Athos asked deep voice controlled, his eyes didn't focus on her for a moment.

"I had to see you," Marie answered truthfully, leaning forward and letting her hand rest on the cold ground. "I needed to make my peace with you…" the guilt of the dark bruise that covered Athos' handsome face still tugged at her heart.

"Don't worry yourself over it," Athos said, stoic and expressionless. "I deserved it."

"No you did not." Marie said with a shake of the head, her short dark curls falling across her face, brushing them aside she continued. "What had happened didn't excuse what I did, you tried to show me kindness and I threw it back at you… I'm to blame, my foolish anger and ill-advised stubbornness is to blame," she gritted her teeth petulantly.

Athos turned his sight on her then, mere inches away with only the bars between them he found himself quite in awe at the young woman, he admired her spirit and willingness to strive on, but he knew how grief changes people and it had certainly changed her he could see it in her heavy eyes.

"You know, when I found you, the first thing you did was smack me in the jaw," he gave a small chuckle at the thought. "Your famed anger and stubbornness is perhaps a grievance at times, yet I can think of countless occasions where it has saved us all. You must understand Marie that love and loss changes you."

"I didn't come here to talk of myself." Marie demurred, striking up all her self-control to keep away the loftiness from steeping her light tones.

"Then why did you come? Surely not for my benefit."

"Is that so hard for you to believe?" Marie looked away.

Athos was known for his secrecy particularly on subjects concerning himself, if questioned on any particular aspects, especially those of a female kind, he would simply nip the query with a bitter remark or ignore it completely. So with his guarded, somewhat unsociable, reticent manner he was a complicated man to understand. All Marie had managed to gather in the short years of their friendship was that he had been hurt terribly by someone he had loved, and to seek that information she had to confide in Aramis. Unlike the other two, whom she had come to understand in a few weeks of her arrival, Porthos loud, brash and with a booming laughter which could be heard from four streets away, full of brotherly love and affection for both his two male companions and Marie herself; and Aramis, handsome, loyal, undoubtedly skilled in the ways of seduction (helped chiefly by his looks) with a charming character and knowledge far beyond his young years.

Athos, however, brought nothing, a kind man he showed no irritation toward Marie as he perhaps did on the occasion where Porthos and Aramis were concerned, they were both quite content to sit together in a room in silence accompanied by a good drink with the comfort of each other's company. Yet no profound exchange of unsettled pasts and prospecting futures were uttered on these instances, just pure silence and genuine ease in the air.

In an unexpected gesture, Athos slid his hand through the bars and rested it atop of Marie's, the prolonged pain and sadness in his dark eyes as he turned them on her for, what seemed like, the first time. He looked at her, truly looked, noticed things such as the small, faded scar situated in the corner of her left eye, it stretched outward and glazed her temple and nicked her eyelid, it was pale much like her complexion and so was only observed with the uttermost attentiveness. The faint chestnut glimmer of her fine hair, the way it tousled in the most peculiar way and how he could not recall the length it had been on their first meeting. Her warm, consoling, dark green pools that had a softness in them, even now with such emptiness and sorrow, the stubbornness and quick wit still shimmered brightly. All of a sudden he found himself speaking, quietly, gently, with grief of the past and hopeless reminiscence.

"There was a woman," he began, Marie frozen with wonder at the motion he gave, listened contently, a woman was the stem of many a man's troubles. He toyed with the long chain and locket he had looped round his neck persistently. "She died by my hand, I loved her and she betrayed me. I had to uphold the law, the choice was mine alone."

With a sad curve on her lips, Marie closed her ashen fingers around the musketeers palm giving it an affectionate, light squeeze. "I'm sure your choice was best, whether the decisions we make are right or wrong is for us to determine, and I'm in no doubt that you made the right one, after all when are you ever wrong?" Marie knew that empty apologies were not going to soften anything, the small sympathies she had received were not going to bring her father back and nor were her apologies going to bring back the woman he spoke so tenderly of.

"You are so very wise for you age Marie, I admire that in you."

Marie smiled.

"If there was anything I could have done …" Athos revolved the exchange back to Marie, however comfortable he felt around her, he simply could not bring himself to say any more on the painful subject. Athos was quite sure that she would understand and not force anything more from him.

"Unfortunately not, he passed peacefully surrounded by everyone once they got him back." A breath hitched in her throat, one she was unable to keep away, she felt the melancholy swell in her eyes again but pushed them down and compelled the rest from her tight oesophagus. "Everyone except me…"

_Of course_, Athos thought bitterly. The reasoning behind her self torture and predominant anger had become clear; she regretted not being at her father's side on the moment of his passing with a brutal capacity. Athos had become to realise that when Marie felt emotion she felt it strongly, more deeply than any other, this on account was not a bad trait where good things were concerned, yet the darkness of malicious feelings struck her heartstrings glaringly.

The musketeer didn't know how to respond, unlike his companion, he was not well versed in comfort and reassurance and so was at a lose end on what to say. In truth, as was the way between them, Marie was simply thankful for his presents, she could not quite comprehend what made her feel so calm and contented in his company, but she was exceedingly appreciative of that fact.

"You couldn't have done anything," Athos said. "The letter spoke of your brother visiting, do you know when he is expected?" he recalled the hurriedly written note, it filled him with much curiosity and concern.

"I don't know, but I wouldn't doubt it being after the funeral."

"Give him my regards if he arrives early," Athos said sombrely, Marie could not ignore the feeling that he spoke as if he had already consigned himself to death. Marie would not let him die for the actions of another; determination decimated other thoughts and sentiments then.

"I promise you I will get you out of here; you're not going to die for another man."

Athos remained silent.

Marie, knowing his bouts of languish well, decided it was best to leave him, she would be able to find the men who had begun to blacken the musketeer name with the help of Aramis and Porthos (and the young Gascon if he wasn't detained in anyway). She also knew that Athos understood this but perhaps had not realised it quite yet.

"Marie," Athos said suddenly gripping her hand as she began to move away, looking her straight in the eye he spoke with that noble, authoritative air. "Don't do anything stupid."

"For you, never."

She stood and straightened her leathers giving him that sad smile which suited her face so beautifully. It infuriated him how she so easily disarmed him with a simple word or that dangerous and sad glint in her green eyes.

_Green_…_ Why did they have to be green?_

To him, green was the colour of betrayal, envy and lies. A colour which he once felt such a deep and profound love for; it was the colour of Anne. But where hers were dark and full of jealousy, Marie's were a peculiar and enchanting mixture of bright tones and something which reminded him of melted copper. He could allow himself to grow and love that colour again but something always stopped him from doing so. It had been six years since her arrival and not a moment went by when he hadn't thought of her, even briefly, sometimes it was a trivial thought of what she was doing at a particular moment of the day, but sometimes it was something more.

When he looked up she was gone, silent as a shadow and something in him knew that she wouldn't keep her word, stupid and reckless things were her forte, sometimes in a good way, but this was one of those occasions where they were going to cause trouble.

* * *

><p>The Cardinal swooped full circle coming to stand in front of his King, long black robes billowing behind him, there was that hidden satisfied smirk on his aging features that none would notice throughout the course of the trial.<p>

"You see your majesty," he finished with feigned sincerity. "This man has been conspiring against you this whole time and if he had not been caught, the Queen would surely be dead."

King Louis noticeably winced from his throne at the thought of the beautiful woman beside him being so brutally murdered, he would not only loose her but that of their unborn son, the mere thought drove harsh shivers through his spine.

Among the spectators, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan stood beside Tréville watching helplessly while Athos was wrongly accused once again. The man himself, still expressionless and somehow accepting of his fate, was surrounded by two guards, his hands tied tightly in front of him.

"Where's Théris?" Porthos murmured with minimal lip movement to the men on either side of him. "He should be here."

"I don't know," d'Artagnan replied somewhat unsurprised by Marie's disappearance, he felt sure that she was on the way to finding whom ever was behind all this in order to clear Athos's name.

There was a sudden great noise from behind the tall, closed doors. Many a shout, which were mainly recognised as servants, pleaded with shaken tones before a sharp one dismissed them. The ornately decorated doors were viciously thrown open, Marie, determined and steadfast, stormed through closely followed by those brave few who attempted to stop her as she made her way down toward the King.

"Your Majesty I must protest to this _madness!_" she shouted, high voice echoing through the stunned halls.

Athos's own words resonated back inside his head again as he noticeably tensed out of discomfort. As stupid acts went, this beat all the others, even the tavern incident which was one he would not forget in a hurry.

"There he is." Aramis stated watching in horror, but his tone slightly amused.

"Your Majesty," Marie said respectfully and much calmer. She stooped low, the tip of her sword pointing upwards out of pure deference toward her sovereign. "Please you must see sense, Athos has not committed the crimes that he has been accused of!"

The King had stood, moving slightly in front of the Queen as if to protect her. "Who is this man?" he demanded, looking from the Cardinal to Tréville and back again.

"One of my musketeers your majesty," Tréville explained stiffly, his forced passiveness hiding a dangerous fury. "I shall escort him out."

Tréville stepped forward and gripped Marie's arm with no small kindness, he was in utter awe at her brash foolishness and couldn't quite believe she had done such a thing. Marie instantly shook her arm free with a short, sharp, shove, which almost sent the Captain stumbling backwards.

"No!" she called fiercely. "I won't stand by whi –"

"Enough!" the Cardinal roared spiralling the room to absolute silence. "You forget yourself sir," he continued turning to face his King again. "Yet again your Majesty the musketeers seem to believe they are above the law."

The King took up his throne again and looked Marie dead in the eye, she was resolute and would be damned to hell before she yielded, Athos was not going to die for another man. "Do you have any proof of your loyalties to this man?" the King asked calmly, though he did not feel that way in the slightest he thought it best to resume some form of order to the court. "Monsieur...?"

"Théris, your Majesty," Marie provided equalling his peacefulness with another low bow. "It is but my word against the accusers, the word of an honest man and one of your most loyal musketeers."

The King looked close to consideration, but the word of the ever watchful and cunning Cardinal set him off balance again.

"You," the Cardinal pointed out a young man quivering among the people. "Come forward."

The man, hat clenched in his hands and beads of sweat upon his brow stepped forward the smallest step he could and cleared his throat.

"Tell us what you heard," the Cardinal instructed at his stammered silence.

"I heard a man saying he had been hired to help assassinate the queen..." he choked out. Marie's ferocious glare was on him instantly, by his mannerisms and stuttering voice she knew he had been forced to say these words, perhaps on pain of death. Who knew, the Cardinal's tricks and games were dangerous events to meddle with.

"And who did he say hired him?" the Cardinal asked, almost relishing the answer he knew was to come.

"… A musketeer named Athos," he shied away from Marie's fury filled and pointed stare, buckling under its intensity. She whipped around to the King once again, angry at the fleeting glance she got of Athos and how passive his expression was.

"This is madness!" she yelled. "That's no proof at all!"

"_Silence!"_ the King bellowed, once again rising from his throne. Many lowered themselves, but Marie froze on the spot a crease forming on her forehead. Her eyes began to plead with him unknowingly. "As a warning to you all," Louis voice came thick and even, he didn't like what he had to say, but he knew it must be done for the safety of his wife and unborn son. "This man will be hanged at dawn."

"No!" Marie called rushing forward only to be caught by two pairs of strong arms.

"Take him away," the King ordered and Athos was beaten into a walk full of abusive yells and shameful cries.

"No!" Marie cried, fighting desperately against Aramis and Porthos who wrangled her out of the palace with a great deal of difficulty, Aramis ending up with a bloody nose from a vicious strike with the elbow. "_Let me go." _Marie seethed under her breath with a frightening potency that loosened both musketeers grip almost instantly.

Tréville trotted down the steps to his soldiers, face taught with a fury at Marie's actions and the blatant misjudgement of his best and brightest. He rounded on the woman taking a hold of her shoulders in a tight, gloved grip which forced her to look in his stormy eyes.

"If you want to help Athos you find that man," he growled dangerously. "You have done us a great disservice today, Marie. Don't let your personal feelings cloud your judgement again, or it'll be you dangling from a rope at dawn instead."

Aramis had seen that look in her eye, it was so fleeting and so small that if he had not been paying the attention he had given to her, he would have missed it, but he caught it just as it flashed in the green orbs. It was a look he knew very well, one that was unusual to her but not unknown, it appeared right after Athos had been sentenced to death at dawn, it was the same look he reserved for Queen Anne in those small moments of contact. It was a look he knew she would never let grow into something more, and for some reason he could not explain, it hurt him to think of it.


End file.
